


Lawlight Tumblr Not-Quite-Drabbles

by magic__mind



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magic__mind/pseuds/magic__mind
Summary: A collection of prompt fills...some explicit, some fluffy, some from the SHH-verse, some not...still being updated!





	1. Awkward First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: How about Light/L first kiss, and they're both incredibly awkward about it?

"Check."

 

"L, I swear. You can't say that five moves before it happens."

 

" _Carpe diem_ , Light. Why put off for five moves what can be ascertained now?"

 

"Because it's _smug_ , L. And besides, you know I'll only take your rook."

 

"Ah, but that will leave your knight unguarded."

 

"My knight IS a guard, you Neanderthal."

 

"Oh, Light, you wound me. Do remember that as it stands, I have toppled your king seven times as you have toppled mine on four."

 

"You're the only man I know who uses the word 'topple' in casual conversation."

 

"Placing me into a position of distinction. Interesting. Be careful there...I might start to think you're getting sweet on me."

 

"You're obnoxious. And you know what else is interesting? Checkmate."

 

* * *

 

“I do hope that you’re aware that this victory was merely a gift from me to you. I didn’t feel it would be gentlemanly to trounce you on our first date. Next time, you will not be so lucky.”

 

“Riiighttt. And, incidentally, it’s usually considered gentlemanly to _ask_ someone on the second date. Not just assume that there will be one.”

 

“Oh, there will be a second, Light. _Carpe diem_ , remember?”

 

“Hmmph. You’re not charming, you know.”

 

“No? Are you certain? Because you seem quite charmed.”

 

“I’m not. Not in the slightest. I don’t think you’re handsome, either.”

 

“Not even slightly? Have you studied my jawline?”

 

“Quite extensively. I’m afraid it does nothing for me.”

 

“Look closer.”

 

“L, I - ”

 

“...”

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“Ahem. I…you…I wasn’t expecting - ”

 

“…was it not good? I rather thought - ” 

 

“No! I mean yes! I mean…no. It was good. I just…you know, I ate that garlic bread at dinner and I wasn’t expecting that you’d - ”

 

“Oh, well…I suppose perhaps some sort of…warning…might have been in order. I just assumed that - ”

 

“Oh God, so my breath _did_ smell like garlic. Fuck.”

 

“No! Light, honestly, it was perfection. I meant that perhaps you were indicating a desire for…discussion…before acts of intimacy.”

 

“Well…no. I mean…that isn’t really…oh my God, I can’t believe we’re having this discussion. Look, it’s more…romantic…the way you did it. I’m just…self-conscious right now. And I’d really like to end this whole sordid conversation because I don’t _say_ things like that to people. Especially people I…”

 

“People you…enjoy the company of? Would want to go on a second date with? Whom you find devastatingly attractive?”

 

“Heh…alright. All of the above.”

 

“Brilliant. Expect a call from me. And clear whatever was on your calendar for this Friday evening.” 

 

“There you go again with those assumptions. It shouldn’t be as appealing as it is.”

 

“Heh heh. Goodnight, Light Yagami.”

 

“Goodnight, L.”


	2. Friends with Benefits to Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Um, how about, in the universe of your choice (canon, or modern AU, or whatever you prefer), their first time sleeping together when both of them have Feelings for the other? Like, they've been friends (?) with benefits, and they've both started to realize they're in love?

They haven’t discussed it. Light wonders if they ever really will. He wonders if this is the last time, or the first.

 

He lies on his stomach, arms and legs stretched out in all directions, and most of the sheets have fallen to the floor by this point. He has found two handfuls of them to grip. L insists on four-digit thread counts, and damn if Light doesn’t appreciate the silky slide of them right now.

 

L’s breath is hot in his ear. One of his hands is pinning down Light’s hip, and the other is being used to hold himself up over Light’s back. L doesn’t let them touch, except in the places where it is of absolute necessity.

 

How L could deem it necessary in any way for the lead detective to be fucking his prime suspect, Light cannot fathom. But he lifts his hips up anyway, and pulls one knee toward his chest. L sinks into him deeper than ever before, and Light feels himself grin. It is sharp, and feral, and it bears his teeth to a world that isn’t worthy of the sacrifices he’s making. The sacrifice he _will_ be making.

 

L growls. “Don’t think you can manipulate me. I know what you are. I know it I know it I know it - ”

 

“Shut _up_. You’re sick. Mmmph…you’re my fuckbuddy or you’re my investigator. You can’t be – _ah!_ – you can’t be both.”

 

“Why?” demands L. He grinds down into Light viciously, like he’s angrier than he’s ever been with him. “Why do you deny me this? Even now…” he pants “when the fate of the world hangs in the…in the balance…and we still do this. _Ahhhhh…Christ_ , Light. We still can’t help ourselves. _I_ can’t help myself, and it’s because I - ”

 

“I told you to _shut up_ ,” Light says. “I can’t… _fuck_ …I can’t believe you.”

 

He should get up. He should get out of this bed, and spare them both this misery. L takes the one time when they are partially honest with each other – when they’re fucking – and gets greedy with it. He tries to make Light say things that he knows Light _can’t_ _say_.

 

“You could,” another growl. “You could…tell me the truth, Light. I’ve got… _ah_ …what? A week, at most? I know…why you lie…to the rest of them. Why… _mmmph_ …do you lie to me?”

 

L pulls out with no warning, and Light nearly screams in frustration. He only just clamps down on the impulse before L takes Light by the hips. He pulls him up to his hands and knees, so that L can fuck him in this new way. Open him up ever wider, and try to get at the parts of Light that he’s never had before.

 

“I’m not _lying_ , you bastard!”

 

L pushes in deep, and pulls out fast. Repeats. Wraps one hand around Light’s cock and strokes him in just that way he knows Light can’t resist. Fucks Light with all the anger a man can possess, like he’s trying to punish him with pleasure. Like he wants Light to feel so good that it hurts. And it does hurt. Light writhes, and he can’t stop the mortifying sounds escaping his throat. He can’t stop the curve of his back that puts his ass at just the angle that L wants. He can’t stop clenching down on L’s cock. This could be the last time ( _the last time oh God the last time how can I live without him)_ and he wants to make it last, but his body chooses this night to completely and utterly betray him.

 

“You are. Admit it!” L orders, but his voice breaks. And now Light knows, with frightening clarity, what L is really trying to say. There is not just anger in him. There is also…

 

L hits him at just the right place inside, strokes him with the perfect grip, and Light moans desperately, coming all over himself. He knows L won’t last much longer. He never does, after Light finishes.

 

“ _Please_ , Light,” L goes on, holding onto Light’s hips and fucking him through this painful (lovely) miserable (magical) declaration.  “Can you not be… _ah…ah…._ ” L bites down onto Light’s shoulder as he comes. By unspoken agreement, they stay connected. L pants into Light’s ear. Light thinks that maybe he won’t say it now. Maybe now that the sex is over, the moment has passed.

 

It hasn’t.

 

“Can you not be honest with…with me?” says L. “I love - ”

 

Light gathers the top sheet, clutching it around himself and leaping off of the bed so fast that before he knows it, he’s in the adjoining bathroom. His eyes burn. He can’t get enough air into his lungs. He’s never known pain like this. He leans against the wall, too weak to stand. He will only allow himself this moment, this one tear, before shutting himself down and putting it all away. Every romantic notion, every selfish wish, every devoted beat of his useless heart, every time he looked at L and considered his beauty, his magnificence, every time he told himself that he’d get bored with L eventually and knew it to be a lie. Every bit of love he has, he puts into an iron box and locks down with an iron chain. 

 

What is his own happiness when the world needs a savior?


	3. Seeking His Hand: sick!L

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: SHH universe sickfic, where L is the sick one this time! I guess Light wouldn't really be able to tend to L as much as he did for Light (when they're still match/suitor) but maybe just a snippet?

“Mr. Lawliet,” gasps Matsuda, as he and Light come into the parlor. “You look _awful_.”

 

“Why thank you, Mr. Matsuda,” L answers, voice empty of its usual dark timbre, scratchy and raw-sounding.

 

“He only means that you look very sick,” Light says, removing his worn coat. November snow had begun to fall during their travel here, and bits of it are in his hair, but L’s manor is warm with its many smoking chimneys. 

 

“It is…nothing, Li…Light,” L says. “You need not have - ” here, he pauses for a spectacular fit of coughing. “You need not have gone to these lengths.”

 

L is in a poet’s shirt, laces undone and cuffs unadorned. There are blankets piled high around him. He sits (rather more reclines than sits, truth be told) on a lounge in his parlor. His cheeks are flushed, and the angularity of his face is more prominent than ever.

 

_Dear Light,_

_As I have no good news to share with you, I feel the best manner in which to deliver it is simply to come right out with it. So here it is: I am afraid that our meeting this Friday must be postponed._

_I am not often taken by illness, but it seems that when my body does decide to succumb, it does so with all dedication to the task. Grandfather is playing nursemaid to me even as I write. (I protest his fretting to no avail.) Some sort of evil mixture of hacking coughs and fever-chills has brought out the very worst of my human frailty._

_I do very much regret the cancellation, and vow that as soon as my health allows me, I shall make this separation up to you. And I shall do so with all fervor._

_Yours,_

_L_

 

When Light received the news of L’s illness, he could not sit by and simply wait for L to recover. With the promise that L’s grandfather would be present in the manor, and that Matsuda himself would accompany Light inside, Father allowed Light to journey to Silver Hills. The idea of Light staying there overnight was, of course, too offensive to custom to even be made mention. Light will remain in the manor only until sunset, at which time Matsuda’s taxi carriage will deliver him home again. 

 

“After all that you did for me during the byoki? Nonsense,” says Light. “Besides, it is not as if it were any chore.”

 

He sets several baskets, each covered with a tartan cloth, onto the small table in front of L’s chaise lounge. One contains blueberry tarts. Another holds several jars of vegetable soup. And the third, a batch of slot cookies (which Light hopes are still at least somewhat warm).

 

“Shall I fetch you a bowl, then?” Light asks. “You look as if you’ve not eaten in days.”

 

L laughs, but it quickly transforms into another coughing fit. When he recovers, he wears a weak smile and says, “And here I was hoping you’d find me dashing even in sickness.”

 

Matsuda’s cheeks turn pinkish and he stares at the closest painting as if it is the most interesting thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

 

Light chuckles a bit. “Would you mind terribly if I spoke a private word to my Suitor, Matsuda?”

 

“Hmm? Oh! Haha, of course! I mean…of course not! I mean…go ahead.”

 

Light crosses to L’s lounge, where he perches at the end of it. He leans in to whisper into L’s ear, shielding his mouth from Matsuda’s view with one hand.

 

“I don’t recall saying you weren’t still dashing, Suitor mine,” he whispers. “Only that you should to keep up your strength. You’ll need it, come February.”

 

Light hears L swallow. He shifts a bit under his cocoon of blankets. “In that case…I do believe I shall partake of some of this. Food for healing, and all of that.”

 

“Good man,” Light praises, then goes to fetch that bowl.


	4. 1950s Omegaverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I'd love to see your take on either an alpha!L/omega!Light AU, or an online mmo AU!

“Those Alphas,” Misa sighs. She straightens her poodle skirt. “They’re _dreamy_ , aren’t they?”

 

She and Light walk through the campus Commons, relieved to have finished another day of classes. Light because he is glad to be rid of his idiot classmates for the evening. Misa because she is glad to be rid of lessons.

 

It is a beautiful day. The sky is a clear blue and the grass green under their feet.

 

“Tch,” says Light.

 

A group of Alphas are loitering ahead of them. Light knows who they are. He and Misa have most of their classes with them, scheduled as they all are to graduate this Spring. All of them wear black leather jackets and jeans that look painted on. Their shiny motorcycles are all parked in a row just behind them. There’s Aizawa, leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette and complaining loudly about his parents. Mogi is there too, silent but imposing nevertheless as he does pull-ups from the one of the tree branches. Ide seems to be half listening to Aizawa, half testing how much attention he can draw to his hair, combing it compulsively and adding grease to make it shine. 

 

And then there’s L, the ringleader of the gang. He’s reclining on the park bench under the tree. Like the self-entitled Alpha he is, he takes up all the space on it. His arms are spread across the back and his legs are stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. He’s got his eyes on the clouds, not talking to anyone. He’s probably thinking about the only thing he really cares about: himself.

 

L is the only person to have ever bested Light’s scores on an exam. From the moment that he and Light Presented, they have been rivals. Usually Alphas and Omegas get along quite well (too well, in fact, as many Omegas drop out of school before graduation, knocked up), but the two of them have never given up their fierce competition. L will never skip a chance to show Light up in a class, and Light will never hesitate to challenge L’s reasoning when it is even the slightest bit flawed. They’ve both been thrown into detention on more than one occasion, having debated whatever subject there was at hand so ferociously that the teacher could no longer get a word in edgewise.

 

They’ll both graduate soon, Light reminds himself, and then Light will be free of all that.

 

Oh, L has tried to turn on that Alpha charm from time to time - hinting that they could channel their frustrations with each other into more productive activities - but Light has never given in. He won’t. Light _hates_ L. He hates his massive ego, he hates his black eyes, he hates the way L looks on the back of his Harley, winking at Light sarcastically before roaring through the school parking lot.

 

“They’re hoods, is what they are.” Light continues. “Arrogant. And rude, and pushy, and - ”

 

“Oh, Light, you’re never gonna get Bonded with that attitude! Lighten up! Omegas are supposed to be social butterflies, after all!”

 

“I don’t care what Omegas are ‘supposed’ to be. And neither should you, Misa.”  

 

They’re close enough to the Alphas now that Light _knows_ they will be spotted. And with his next heat so soon, Light is certain that they’ll smell him. L especially, as he is the one that Light has spent the most time interacting with (albeit in a decidedly unfriendly manner).

 

Sure enough, L seems to snap out of his cloud-gazing as soon as they draw near.

 

He smirks, and Light orders himself not to engage.

 

_Just keep walking. Just keep walking and ignore him._

 “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Yagami…enjoying the day, are we, Light?” L asks. All of his gang turn to watch, expecting a show. L and Light have never yet disappointed in that regard.

 

“Cut the gas, Lawliet,” Light says, then curses himself. _Why_ couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut? “Come on, Misa,” he mutters, walking ahead.

 

But Misa is paying him no mind. She flutters her eyelashes at Mogi, who watches her with something of a glazed expression.

 

“Cool it, Daddy-o,” L laughs. “I’m just being pleasant. Aren’t I, fellas?”

 

Aizawa and Ide chuckle and nod. Sycophants.

 

“And we were just leaving,” Light retorts. “Misa, come _on_.”

 

He turns to see that Misa is quite occupied with Mogi, and decides to simply leave her there.

 

_Serves her right, flirting with him like there’s no tomorrow. Making Omegas everywhere look easy._

 

Light strides away, resolving to get back home as quickly as possible.

 

“Hey, wait up!” he hears L call from behind. Before Light knows it, L’s hand is on his shoulder. The touch burns through the material of Light’s shirt and scorches him. He feels himself shiver.

 

“What do you want?” he demands, shrugging off L’s hand.

 

“I really was just trying to be nice over there. You always think the worst of me,” L says.

 

“What do you _want_ , L?” Light repeats. His patience is wearing thin, and L’s proximity isn’t helping things at all. There is a prickly feeling under his skin. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch.

 

“ _Touchy_ , aren’t we? Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say…” L’s voice trails off suggestively.

 

Light glares at him, hoping he looks as angry as he feels. “Get bent.”

 

“You _are_ ,” says L, smiling, like he’s come upon a rare and pleasant surprise. “You’ve always been a fireball, Light. Especially when you’re going to go into a heat. Other Alphas would be intimidated by that. But not me.” Here, L’s voice drops into a register that sends a river of want into Light’s stomach. “I know how to handle you.”  

 

He looks into Light’s eyes, and for a moment, Light can see exactly what L is suggesting. The picture they’d make together, naked and sweaty. Hungry for each other in that way that only Alpha and Omega can be. The sounds that Light would like to pull out of L’s infuriating mouth. The way that Light could bring L to his knees and send him into a rut so consuming that his brilliant mind would be shattered for a week straight.

 

He takes a step closer to L. He gets right into his space, forcing his scent to surround him, and takes the collar of L’s leather jacket into his hand.

 

L’s eyes grow wide. A sound not unlike a purr rumbles in his chest.

 

“You think you could handle me, huh?” asks Light. “Are you sure?”

 

“A cherry like you? Absolutely sure.”

 

Light stands on his tiptoes, leaning forward to whisper into L’s ear. L’s wild hair is soft against his forehead. “Then make me _need_ it to be you, when my next heat comes. That look your eyes have now? Put that look in mine. Then, and _only_ then, will I consider it.”

 

Light pulls back. It’s his turn to smirk, and he tastes victory on his tongue. “Until then, you’re out of luck. _Daddy-o_.”

 

He leaves L on the Commons grass, stunned and (hopefully) beaten.

 

The following week, Light’s heat is quite memorable indeed.


	5. BDSM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: BDSM-inspired? Pretty please?

The seats inside the limousine are black leather and obscenely comfortable. Dinner was two thousand Euros a plate. L ordered them both a bottle of Dom Perignon to go with it, knowing neither of them would drink more than a glass each.

 

It is the occasion, more than the wine, that makes Light itch for L’s touch. They’ve been together for years – professionally, romantically, sexually, spiritually – but somehow being apart still drives him to distraction. And then when they reunite, this is the result:

 

Light’s hand between L’s legs, stroking him to hardness through his pants.

 

There’s a privacy screen between them and the driver – opaque, soundproof, effective. Even so, it’s a bit ridiculous for Light to start this before they’re even in their chateau. They’re world-class detectives, the best of the best, and they _should_ have the sort of self-control that such positions imply. But Light’s body moves on its own, sometimes, when they’re alone together.

 

L grows stiff under his palm, thick and straining. Light craves him.

 

L chuckles darkly into his ear. “Ohhh, Light, you are a bad boy,” he says, in French. “Look what you’ve done to me.”

 

L has been in Germany for three weeks, while Light has been here in Marseille. It isn’t often that they have to separate like that, but every now again some criminal or other has enough resources to force them to divide and conquer. Conquer they always do, though, and the world is that much cleaner now.

 

The thought of how much faster it could all be done with a Death Note around still flits into Light’s head from time to time, but, over the years, L has fashioned a useful distraction for him.

 

For them both.

 

And at twenty-eight years old, Light is done with being afraid of asking for what he wants.

 

“Make me good again,” Light tells him. He keeps up with the French, liking the sounds of it.

He climbs right into L’s lap, heedless of his Armani suit, and sets to work on a hickey for L’s neck. “Make me good again, L.”

 

He feels L’s hands settle onto his ass and squeeze.

 

“How do you ask?” L murmurs.

 

“Please,” Light whispers.

 

“No,” L says, grinning. “How do you _ask_?”

 

“Make me good again,” Light repeats. He licks a stripe up the side of L’s neck and bites down. “Master.”

 

“Good boy,” L praises, before claiming his mouth in a kiss.

 

* * *

 

The second they are back at the chateau, L is giving orders in English. His accent is crisp, full of hard consonants.

 

“Bedroom. Get the handcuffs. Four sets, and I want you naked as the day you were born. The blindfold, and the gag. Quickly. The longer I wait, the worse it gets for you.”

 

His tone does nothing to dull Light’s arousal. Light obeys.

 

He finds the toys exactly where they should be: in a safe at a back corner of L’s closet. The handcuffs from their younger days are not in this collection, and they both prefer it that way.  These sets are black metal, with short chains, and all matched to the same key. The blindfold, a bright blood red, is next. And finally, the black ball gag. It is fastened to a thin strap of leather with a silver buckle.

 

He undresses efficiently, for once uncaring of where his tie ends up or if his suit jacket is even on its hanger.

 

When Light emerges, carrying everything, he finds L shirtless and leaning against one of the bedposts.

 

“On your stomach, Light,” L says. “Arms and legs toward the posts.”

 

Light does as he’s told. He puts the toys on a corner of the bed and climbs on. The bed covers are freezing against his bare skin. It is January, and L refuses to keep a house warmer than eighteen degrees C unless some sort of blizzard is on the horizon.

 

L circles the bed. He moves slowly, and Light feels his eyes on him. It makes him, harder, if anything, and he shifts restlessly.

 

“I’ll allow you that,” L tells him. “But only because you look so fetching doing it.”

 

A ring of cool metal closes around Light’s left wrist. A moment later, he hears the _snick_ of the adjoining cuff settling around the closest bed post.

 

His left ankle next, cuffed and fastened. Then his right ankle, and finally his right wrist. L works quickly.

 

He is practiced, after all.

 

Light tests the restraints, knowing he won’t be able to move more than a few inches, wanting the proof of it all the same.

 

“Did you miss me, Light?” L asks conversationally. Light feels him climb onto the bed. He thinks L is kneeling between his spread legs. He feels the material of L’s pants on his calves.

 

“Yes,” Light tells him.

 

“Did you touch yourself and think of me?” asks L. Light feels him run one hand from Light’s ankle to his thigh.

 

“Yes.”

 

Suddenly, L’s hand comes down on Light’s bottom. _Hard_. Light yelps, taken by surprise in a way that he should not have been. He should have read the signs. He should have known.

 

“Yes _what_?” L demands.

 

“Yes, Master,” Light corrects.

 

“You forget your place, Light. You belong to me. If you have something, you have it only because I allow you. If you want something, you receive it only if I wish it so.”

 

Light feels himself drooling precum into the sheets at these words. He shifts again, fighting off a whimper.

 

“Look at you. Wanton. Depraved. You are a _whore_ , Light Yagami,” L says softly.

 

“Yes, Master,” whispers Light.

 

“Whose whore are you?” L asks.

 

“Yours, Master,” Light answers, still at a whisper.

 

“I can’t _hear_ you,” says L.

 

“ _Yours_ , Master,” Light groans.

 

“That you are,” says L. He leans over Light, long fingers coming into Light’s view, before blackness overtakes Light’s vision, and the blindfold is tied around his head.

 

“And I want you red, Light, and raw, when I fuck you,” L tells him.

 

This time, Light really _does_ whimper, wanting L’s cock inside him. He wants L to cover him, invade him, press him into the mattress and take away his every thought. He wants the _possession_.  And he loves the feel of L pounding into him when his ass is still stinging and sensitive from a spanking.

 

“Whatever you want, Master,” Light says. “I’m yours.”

 

“That’s it, Light,” L praises, dark and predatory. “I’ll make you a good boy yet.”

 

And then the spanking begins in earnest. By the end, Light can’t hold back his screams.

 

* * *

 

When it’s over, Light lies there panting, trying to catch his breath and unable to calm down. Unable to keep still. He writhes in the sheets, still chained to the bedposts. He can feel the marks L has left on him, handprints surely pink and smarting, covering his ass.

 

“Are you desperate, Light?” L asks. “Are you desperate for me?”

 

“Please, Master…please,” he says. His voice is raw and scratchy. His cock is so hard it hurts.

 

L’s lips touch his shoulders, his hair, his lower back.

 

“You’ve done so well, Light…been so obedient,” he murmurs, in between the kisses. “Such a good little whore for me. Taking it all so well.”

 

Light makes a needy sound, arching into L’s lips.

 

“Touch me…touch me. L…L, please. I can’t stand it. I need you. I need your cock. Fuck me. Fuck me fuck me fuck me…”

 

“Oh, I will…I will. You’re going to feel how hard you’ve made me. I promise you that.”

 

Light whines, straining at his bonds.

 

“I’m taking off the cuffs. But you’re going to wear them in a new way. The blindfold stays. Be good for me, Light, and I’ll give you what you need.”

 

One by one, L unfastens the handcuffs. The chains clink and ring against the bedposts. Light’s arms and legs ache, held in the same position for so long. He bends his elbows and knees experimentally.

 

L takes his hands, helping Light to sit up. L’s hands are strong and steady. He guides Light easily, and Light thinks that if he ever were to be truly blinded, permanently, he would trust L to lead him.

 

“I’m going to pound you like the whore you are, Light Yagami,” L says. “You’re going to ride me.”

 

“Oh God,” groans Light. “Please…”

 

L eases Light into his lap. His legs straddle L and his bottom burns from the pressure, still so sore. Light feels L’s cock under him, rigid and unyielding, tenting his pants. The heat, the insistency of it, gives the lie to L’s careful control.

 

Light wants to break that control into a million tiny pieces.

 

“Do you want it?” L asks.

 

“I need it, L…I need it,” Light tells him. He grinds down, applying friction to the place he knows L wants it most.

 

“Take it out, then,” L orders. “Put yourself to good use.”

 

Light’s mouth truly, honest-to-God, waters. He used to think that the type of reactions he had to L would fade with time. With familiarity.

 

Now, he thinks differently.  

 

It isn’t so difficult, even blindfolded as he is, to undo the button and zip of L’s jeans. When Light has wanted something, he has always been skilled in getting it.

 

He loves L’s cock. Loves its thickness, its length, the heaviness of it in his palm. Loves what he can do to it, and how no one else gets the chance. Light strokes him, root to tip, gathering precum and smearing it obscenely around the head. He knows what L likes, and doesn’t have to see him to know that he’s doing a good job.

 

“Ohhhh, what a good boy you are, Light,” says L. His breath catches at the end, fluency torn by a very particular curve of Light’s wrist. 

 

Light leans in slowly, nuzzling L’s cheek with his forehead, guessing at where L’s ear is so that he can speak into it. “Do you want to fuck your good boy? Let me ride you, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

 

“I will…believe me, I will. But it seems you need to be taught one more thing. You see,” L says. “A master makes demands of his whore, not the other way around.”

 

Light moans, collapsing against L’s chest.

 

“L, come _on_ , I swear to God I’ll die if you don’t just - ”

 

“Ah ah ah,” L chides. “And here you had me thinking you were obedient. Open that mouth for me,” he orders softly. His voice is always a shade deeper during sex. “If you won’t obey, you’ll be made to.”

 

Since he wasn’t ordered to stop stroking L off, Light doesn’t, even as L fits the ball gag into his mouth and fastens it tight. It’s harder to draw enough breath through his nose alone, keyed up as he is, but he will manage it, because it’s what L wants. And Light really does want to please him, no matter that he is impatient. He wants L happy with him, and how he looks, and how he fucks.

 

“Much better,” says L approvingly. “Now. Hands behind your back.”

 

 _Fuck_ , thinks Light. _Fuck, he’s going to –_

But he obeys. He must obey. And sure enough, L takes one of the sets of handcuffs and snaps them to each of Light’s wrists. The chain is short enough that Light can barely move his arms, and he certainly can’t touch L anymore.

 

“What a picture you make…my own little toy,” L croons, skimming the tip of one finger from Light’s sternum to his cock.

 

Light whines through the gag. He squirms in L’s lap.

 

“You’re beautiful when you’re tied up, Light, do you know that? It’s a shame I can’t see those eyes of yours, but that _mouth_ …”

 

Suddenly, Light feels something cool and viscous between his legs. Two of L’s fingers, coated in lube (when L did that, Light hasn’t the fainted idea) slide between his cheeks. It calls the spanking to Light’s mind all over again, and the moan he can’t fight is muffled by the gag.

 

“Sensitive, I know…just imagine what you’ll be feeling when I’m fucking you open,” L tells him. “I can’t deny that I want to. I know what you feel like inside. I know what it’s like for this tight hole of yours to squeeze my cock.”

 

With that, L presses those two fingers in, hard and fast. Light’s chest is heaving with the effort it takes to _relax_ and let it happen. If he doesn’t relax, this part will take longer, and he’s been made to wait for so long now…so very long…

 

L finger-fucks him, several shallow little thrusts that don’t reach Light’s prostate, and Light could hit him for being such a tease, he really could. It isn’t as if L doesn’t know where it is. He’s fucked Light enough times to be able to reach his prostate by muscle memory alone.

 

Light makes an angry “mmmph!” sort of sound, hoping to urge L to just _get on with it already_.

 

“So impatient,” L says, with faux disappointment. “I suppose I’ll have to…”

 

And then Light feels a third finger stretching him open. There is only _just_ enough lube, so Light feels the friction and burn of L inside. No doubt L planned it this way. Light can’t bring himself to be anything but grateful. He wants this delicious pleasure-pain, wants L’s cock there all the more. He needs to come so _fucking badly_.

 

He tilts his hips back against L’s fingers, taking them in as deep as he can. He rocks, and writhes, and undulates against L’s chest. He can’t get much leverage without the use of his arms, and his thighs bear the brunt of his movements, but he needs L to reach that place inside him. He’ll die if he doesn’t get it. If L doesn’t fuck him _hard_ and _fast_ and _now_...

 

“Alright…” L tells him, breathing hard himself. Light can hear it. “Alright…alright…”

 

Light feels himself being lifted up by the hips. He kneels, and then L is spreading him open with both hands. L’s cock is rigid against his hole, weeping with precum. L gives a few shallow thrusts, bumping himself against Light a few times. And then:

 

“Show me what you can do, Light,” he says.

 

And that’s all it takes.

 

Light sinks down, taking L’s cock down to the root with one swift motion. He wants to cry with relief. He hasn’t had this in weeks, and L feels so _good_ inside.

 

L groans, pulling Light’s hips toward himself.

 

“I have missed you…oh, how I have missed you.”

 

Light whimpers, nodding, telling L that he feels it too, in the only way he can right now.

 

They rock together, savoring the connection, letting it linger. They each have always wanted to push themselves to the limit, in everything. They have that in common. L kisses and sucks at Light’s neck, and Light arches for him, raising himself up and sinking back down as slowly as he can. He feels every inch of L slide out and back in again, grazing his prostate, and it makes his brain go empty, like blank, white paper behind his eyes.

 

But the slowness doesn’t last, can’t last, because they are also L and Light. They are the same men who pushed each other nearly to death once. They have been redeemed from that, but they each remember it keenly, in their own ways. They savor the physical, because they remember what it felt like to think it would be taken away.

 

So Light rides L harder, faster. And L thrusts up into his body like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. And they force each other to the brink, neither wanting to be the first to come. That would be _losing_. But also winning, wouldn’t it?

 

The headboard slams into the wall ( _that’ll leave marks_ , Light thinks, distantly). They make love in haste (Light will feel this tomorrow, he knows he will, and it is that thought that pushes him into the point of no return).

 

“Come for me,” L orders him. “Come for your master.”

 

_He isn’t playing fair!_

Light resists for just that much longer. He fights hard against his body, and the pleasure, until the moment when he can’t anymore. The moment when L says, “Come for me, Light, and make me come too.”

 

Then, Light loses the battle. He comes messily between them. But he wins the war, because he hears L grit his teeth and growl, then thrust up inside of him one last time, deeper than ever, before going completely still.

 

* * *

 

The day after, Light aches with soreness every time he sits down, and smiles.


	6. Kelsea Ballerini's "Peter Pan"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was for my beloved BC3. <3
> 
> Prompt: Ah, since I already put in the verbal request within your ridged time frame, you must honor it. >:) So here goes... A ficlet based on Kelsea Ballerini's song "Peter Pan." Any universe, though canonverse fits perfectly. From the angle of L to Light, possibly in letter form after his death. But does not have to be. Go forth and make my dreams come true, Angel Cake. ^_^

L is _tired_.

 

He’s tired of being Ryuzaki. Tired of changing his posture, his mannerisms, his emotional spectrum. He’s got so little time left. He doesn’t want to spend it being someone else.

 

The idea that he could be wrong does not seriously occur to him. Idly, L sometimes thinks about how nice it would be, just this one time, for him to be wrong. Light would not be Kira again, and they’d go on being…whatever they’d become…when he was just Light Yagami.

 

Light still kisses him, and touches him in the dark, but L knows the difference. He feels it. And frankly, he finds it a bit insulting that Light thinks he can fool him with pyrite affection.

 

Maybe Light doesn’t think that. Maybe Light knows that L knows, but since there is no proof, he goes on with the charade anyway, just to be safe. Or maybe, just maybe, Light enjoys being with L as much as L enjoys being with him. So he keeps it all up.

 

But that is neither here nor there. L must return to his original thought. He is tired of spending his time being someone else. Light is doing plenty enough of that for the both of them, anyway.

 

L - the real L - enjoys American country music.

 

This is not something that he has ever revealed to anyone. He likes the sadness, the heartbreak, the simple, rustic tragedies. (He doesn’t understand them, though. Or didn’t. Before.) But on this late evening, alone with Light in headquarters, with less than a week left of his earthly life by his own (very good) approximations, L thinks, _fuck it._

 

He finds the first streaming service he can (one of those automated recommendation applications that reduce music to the sum of its parts) and country melodies quickly fill their room.

 

Light is sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him, in front of his own laptop. He glares at L. Actually, he doesn’t. He just looks at him flatly. But L sees the glare Light _would_ throw at him, if Light would just let himself _feel_ something for two seconds.

 

“That’s a bit distracting,” he says. They speak Japanese to each other in private, even though Light is fluent in English, because L refuses Light his native tongue. It is about the only thing that L can refuse Light these days, and he wears that fact like a little mental badge of honor.

 

“ _You’re_ a bit distracting,” L shoots back, smiling.

 

He actually manages to make Light roll his eyes.

 

“Fine,” Light says, turning back to his laptop. “Exercise your right to derail my thought processes.” Then, muttering, he adds, “You could at least have chosen something instrumental.”

 

Light is discomforted by emotional expression, when that emotional expression is genuine. L knows this about him. And country music does such an _excellent_ job of making sincere heartbreak sound sincere.

 

A new song plays – one that L has never heard before.

 

_The smile, the charm, the words, the spark,_

_Everything, you had it_

_I guess I had a naive heart, cause boy,_

_I let you have it_

 

L wonders how much attention Light is paying to the music. He’s staring intently at his laptop screen, typing now and again…but it feels like he’s trying just a bit too hard.

 

_Deep down, I knew that you were too good to be true_

_But every piece and part of me wanted to believe in you_

_Now it's happily ever never_

_I guess now I know better_

 

They don’t speak to each other. L isn’t pretending to focus on the case. L isn’t pretending, right now. He just sits, and listens, and thinks about the sort of things that bind humanity together.

 

Love. Sorrow.

 

 _Satyagraha_ , his mind whispers.

 

_You're just a lost boy,_

_Yeah, I know who you are_

_And you don't know what you lost, boy,_

_Too busy chasing stars_

Light doesn’t look at L, or make any comment. He keeps up his charade of diligence: clicks his mouse, types his words…but L knows the truth. There is a stillness in the air underneath these absurdly fitting lyrics. It is one that Light won’t be able to ignore.

 

_You're just a lost boy, with your head up in the clouds_

_You're just a lost boy, never keep your feet on the ground_

 

L wonders how far Light’s capacity for self-delusion extends. Does he think that Kira’s reign will endure after Light’s own death? Does Light believe himself truly god-like, and beyond mortality? If he doesn’t, how does he escape the knowledge that even if his utopia comes to pass, it will only last as long as one human lifetime?

_Always gonna fly away, just because you know you can_

_Never gonna learn there's no such place as a Neverland_

_You don't understand_

_You'll never grow up_

_You're never gonna be a man,_

_Peter Pan_

 

Another song begins, but Light reaches over to L’s laptop and swiftly presses the mute button.

 

“I can’t think,” he bites out, by way of explanation.

 

L thinks, _maybe he’s letting himself feel something after all._


	7. Seeking His Hand: L's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Idk if you're still looking for writing things, but a SHH aku from L's perspective? Obviously not the whole thing lol, but maybe a certain moment or scene, like when he first saw Light at his house or after their fight? (If it's not too much)
> 
> I decided to write the scene in which L sees Light for the very first time. :)

L is impatient, as a general rule. He doesn’t enjoy biding his time, or waiting for clues, and instead prefers to  _take_  the information he needs for a case as quickly and efficiently as he can manage.

Which is why he is wandering along the outskirts of this town’s church fairgrounds.

He is watching. 

People are milling about on the grounds, as they seem to do every Sunday, eating and talking and sharing one another’s company.

Among the throngs of the Faithful, L can easily see those who are holding various small secrets. He spots a man serving himself food at the buffet tables, clearly hiding an infidelity from his quiet and somewhat prudish wife. He sees two children playing with a toy spinning top that was undoubtedly stolen. He sees many things – small, irrelevant misdeeds – and he longs to see something  _helpful to the case_.

He tells himself to enjoy his current challenge. It is never long, after all, before he solves the mystery, and then the boredom descends upon his mind like a choking fog until he can locate another. He should be grateful for the clarity with which he sees, and the interest he can take in the world around him right now.

When he is without a case, he finds the world around him no more interesting than a bird finds the iron bars of its cage. 

As L walks, he comes to understand how this town seems to determine its class distinctions: wealth. Those with gold group themselves together, identifying each other by the richness of their clothing and the educated accents of their speech. Those with only enough coin to be getting on with seem to group themselves together as well, clothes plain but clean. The poorest of people are often found alone, or in pairs or threes, ignored by the rest of the large gathering. Their clothes are dirty, little more than rags, and often L sees them asking passersby for donations.

One of them is no more than six years of age, a tiny girl with arms and legs so thin that they resemble matchsticks. Her tattered dress is much too large for her and hangs off of one shoulder. She watches the churchgoers eat their meal. Her hunger is as plain as day, for anyone who cares to look, that is.

L is reaching into his pocket when he sees someone approach her. No one wealthy, that much is clear. The stranger’s clothes are clean but clearly old, and his shoes are well-worn. He is tall, almost as tall as L himself, with brown hair that shines in the sunlight, and skin tanned to a rich bronze. A fieldhand, then, L reasons. Perhaps a planter. Probably too young to own his own land…perhaps the son of a Tradesman.

L can find no shame inside himself when he realizes just how  _attractive_  the stranger is.

L watches as he approaches the girl with a kind smile. He kneels in front of her, so that he may look into her eyes, and extends his hand. He is offering her the small sandwich he holds.

The stranger is too thin, himself, L notes. Clearly there are others in the vicinity who are in better positions to help the poor child, but no one except this boy seems to take note of her at all.

The girl smiles hesitantly, reaching out to take the offering. Her smile grows and grows, and she giggles happily before taking a bite. The stranger nods to her, encouraging, before turning away and rejoining the group.

The girl’s gratitude reminds him of Amra.

It has been a long time…years, really, since Amra. L still feels the ache of failure. Her death is on his shoulders, and always will be.

And Grandfather  _has_ been quite persistent, lately, in his urging L to take another spouse.

 _Twenty-four is much too young, Enkle, to be going on alone_ ,he often says over dinner. Or breakfast. Or during shooting practice. Or in the evenings as they read. 

But L has never had an interest in remarrying. He didn’t even have an interest in marrying the first time, truth be told. If Amra’s life had not be threatened, L would happily have remained a bachelor detective.

But there is something about that boy…‘young man,’ L amends inside his head. He is most likely L’s own age, or thereabouts. It isn’t just his act of kindness, generous in the extreme though it may have been. It isn’t even his good looks (his  _very_ good looks…dear gods in heaven, the  _legs_ on him…). It is the carefully controlled smile, the poise and the acute awareness he has of everyone around him, the guardedness in his brown eyes…

That young man has secrets. L doesn’t know what they are, yet, but he is intrigued by their presence. The secrets are buried deep, maybe so deeply as to be ingrained within, hidden even from the young man himself. 

It is difficult - absurdly difficult - for L to wrench his eyes away from the stranger’s retreating form.  

Maybe…just maybe…

Maybe there is hope for L Lawliet’s marital status yet.

L approaches the girl and drops five gold coins into the small basket she carries. Her jaw drops, eyes wide as sunflowers. As he walks away, he hears her shout, “My stars,  _thank_ you, sir! Oh, thank you, sir, so very much! Thank you!”

 _No…thank you,_ he finds himself thinking.

He smiles.   


	8. Prison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Could you maybe do L and Light accidentally getting arrested and stuck in a prison cell together? Modern au or another of your choice. Thank you :)

“Imagine how nice it would be if we were allowed  _two_ phone calls,” Light says, so earnest that the sarcasm inherent in his statement seems to hide inside a metaphorical cave until  _just_ the right moment appears for it to jump out and go ‘boo!’ 

Light has had a lot of practice pretending to be normal in a world where he is anything but, but L always sees through the ruse. He knows Light is trying to hint an escape plan to him without arousing the suspicion of their charming guards.

“I bet tons of people ask for another one,” L replies, adding an inane little laugh at the end. Mentally, he sighs. He  _hates_  pretending to be stupid. “But imagine how much the government would have to pay when their phone bill came every month!”

Translation:  _I don’t have my second cell phone on me, Light-kun, and if I did, do you really think you would need to remind me to use it? This is all your fault, anyway! Who wears cologne that provocative to an unlicensed interrogation of dubious legality?!_

“Probably even more than their attorney’s fees, what with all the cases that must be brought against the county concerning sexual misconduct among inmates,” says Light. His wrists are cuffed behind his back and somehow he still manages to walk like the world is his runway. (L managed to avoid being handcuffed, through a combination of his natural charm and superior intelligence. And flattery. A bit of that, too.)

Translation:  _Bite me, L. Carry on this way and let’s see if I let your dick anywhere near me again when we get out of here._

Well, that was certainly rude. Light-kun seems to turn into a right little bitch when faced with jail time. Interesting.

“Inmates, keep quiet,” sighs one of their guards. He sounds nearly as bored with his job as L imagines he himself would be, if forced into the position.

“Yeah, shut up!” the second guard adds, clearly the more enthusiastic of the two.

L and Light refrain from talking, then. They walk down a hallway lined on either side with iron bars, behind which various criminals (and perhaps several innocents, too) linger. Some of the men pay no notice to either of them, some look on in mild interest, and a few are senseless enough to make catcalls, particularly in Light’s direction.

L hears one of these unfortunate souls give an appreciative whistle as they pass, saying, “Meet me in the showers, sweet cheeks, and I’ll make your time in here  _real_  more enjoyable.” The inmate follows up his stunningly ineffective attempt at flirting with a lusty chuckle. His teeth are the color of old corn.

L decides that this would make an excellent nickname for the man. Old Corn it is, then.

Light doesn’t spare a glance for Old Corn. He doesn’t miss a beat in his even steps as he calls back, coldly and with unmistakable sincerity, “Come near me and I’ll cut  _you_  and whatever sentence you’re serving here  _really_ short.”

They hear nothing further from Old Corn after that. L grins.

They come upon an empty cell that possesses a frankly  _horrifying_ odor and two cots that contain various molds and stains on the mattresses. The enthusiastic guard unlocks it, holding the door open with a gleeful smile.

“Home sweet home, boys,” the guard tells them. He gestures inside.

L imagines that Light has never dwelled for any length of time in a place so unhygienic. L himself honestly has not done so either. But he sees no point in delaying the inevitable. So as Light stands in the hallway, hesitating, L slips inside, figuring that he can, at the very least, have first choice of the cots.

He selects the one whose stain origins he can identify. It is no small feat to crouch on the single clean corner of it that he can find, but L manages.

In the end, Light’s handcuffs are removed and then he is pushed into the cell by the bored guardsmen. The door locks behind them with a resounding bang.

“Your appointed lawyer will meet with you in the morning. Lights go off at ten. Go to sleep or don’t go to sleep, but make noise and suffer the consequences,” says the bored guard. He and his coworker leave the way they came.

Light stands in the middle of the cell with his arms crossed. He seems as though he is attempting to avoid looking at their surroundings as much as possible.

“I can’t  _believe_ you pick today of all days to leave your second cell at the hotel,” he mutters. “I hate you. I really, truly, hate you.”

“That isn’t what you were saying an hour ago, sweet cheeks,” L replies. “I believe you were begging - ”

“Shut  _up_ , L! This is all your fault. How long until Watari comes to get us?”

L sighs. “Given that the interrogation was occurring underground, I warned him that cellular signal would be blocked while we were working. While we were  _supposed_ to be working, I suppose I should say.”

“So he doesn’t know we’re even missing yet. Great. Ten billion dollars at your disposal and you can’t be bothered to build a bunker with a landline.”

“Light-kun, I fail to see how a landline would help us in our current predicament - ” 

“Shut  _up_ , L!” Light shouts. He immediately turns away and takes several deep breaths. “How long did you tell him we’d be there?”

“Ah, who can say how long an interrogation will last, really? There are many factors, after all. Psychologies, pathologies, histories…interpersonal relationships between the captive and his investigator…the availability of eclairs…”

“Don’t  _fuck_  with me, L, or I swear to God, I’ll - ”

Light’s voice is reaching screeching levels – never a good sign – so L decides to simply cut off his rant and answer plainly.

“I told him it could take as long as tomorrow afternoon. The suspect was mentally unstable, Light-kun, you know that. And I am a genius detective but I am not a  _god_.”

“So we’re stuck here for at least 12 hours, possibly as many as 24? Is that what you’re telling me?” Light hisses. His eyes flash, and L swears he can see a hint of red in the irises.

“…essentially, yes. Assuming that Watari can reason out what must have happened, and then narrow down our particular location quickly. Neither of us have any GPS-enabled devices at our disposal, which makes the task rather more difficult - ”

“You  _think?_ I hate you. Have I mentioned that? I  _hate_ you.”

“Now, now, Light-kun, let us look on the bright side. At least we have each other.”

The glare that Light sends his way has L rethinking several of his life choices.


	9. Shakespeare AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Any thoughts on a Shakespeare inspired ficlet? I was thinking of something Hamlet and Ofelia like

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” L asks. His eyes flash, and the crown sitting atop his dark head flashes with them. “You think I’m blind?”

“No, my lord,” Light answers. He stands his ground. “Not at all.”

“You do. You think I’m mad. Maybe I am. Maybe I am, to have kept you imprisoned for so long. Imprisoned with no proof. Punished with no verdict. But I know, Light Yagami, I  _know_  your secret. I know your kind.” L turns away, blue cape sweeping widely around him as he does.  

“My  _kind_ , sir?” asks Light. “My God, help him. He  _has_ gone mad.” 

“Your  _kind_ , Light!” L bellows, turning back to face him. “Those who are beautiful, and make themselves more beautiful still, so that they may deceive! So that they may trick and lie and cheat and swindle! Your face betrays nothing of your inner nature. Your face betrays nothing of Kira. And if it had not been for my father’s passing, I would have disliked even now to suspect you. But I  _did_ suspect you before you took him from this world, and now I do more than suspect: I  _know_  your guilt. I will see you, and all the other beautiful villains you employ to do your murders, drawn and quartered. So help me God, I will see you punished.”

Light takes a few careful steps in L’s direction, reaching out a hand to him. He modulates his tone carefully. He mustn’t sound argumentative. But he mustn’t sound meek, or submissive to L’s authority either.

Something he doesn’t have to fake is the fear in his eyes. Neither that, nor the longing in his heart.

“My lord, I am not he! I’m not Kira!” he says. “I’m Light. I’m your…I’m yours. You’ve seen me as no other has. You’ve known me, in every way a man could know another. I understand your suspicions! I understand your grief! But you cannot think that I - ”

L sighs abruptly, and Light cuts himself off.

“You seducers are all the same. If I had it my way, no one in the kingdom would be allowed a mate. Love makes fools of us all. Even me, for a time. I wish that it had left me so.”

“My lord, you are not yourself. Let me help you. Let me take you to - ”   
  
All at once, L is enraged again. “You cannot help me! No one can help me! My father is dead, and his murderer attempts to sway me from the path of justice! Go! Go! Remain here and I can neither promise nor desire your safety.”

“My lord, please! I…I love you. Can you not see?” Light pleads. He stands before L with his hands held apart from his body, displaying himself to be as unarmed and honest as possible.

Several pained expressions pass across L’s handsome face: regret, guilt, anger, longing, before finally settling to a cold resolve.

“Go and seek a house of God, Light,” L says, after many silent moments. “And pray that He may have mercy on your soul.”

They are the last words Light hears from him.


	10. SHH: Getting it Going in the Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: SHH universe, maybe after they've been together for a while? L and Light get it going in L's garden, and one of them's nervous about being seen.
> 
> Okay, so I credit My Woman, BC3, with the ending of this. Once again, her ideas for the SHH universe prove themselves invaluable to me. As the prompt implies, this one’s NSFW. And includes what I imagine to be the Regency equivalent of dirty talk?

“L, I really don’t suppose that…we ought to…oh,  _gods_ , do that again,” Light says, careful to keep his voice low. As low as he can, rather.

The manor wall is rough against his back, and L’s mouth is fastened to his neck, sucking and biting and making the most wet,  _lewd_ sounds.

And L’s voice when he speaks…it’s rough and deep. Insistent, like a man starving. 

“Give yourself to me,” L says. “Let me…let me.”

His teeth sink down into Light’s neck, dancing on the edge of pain but never quite crossing that line. L’s mouth is sinful. Though they’ve been married for years now, and though L has had him a hundred times, Light cannot help but be nervous. He is no virgin, no stranger to L’s desire, but he has also never let L go this far where others might see.

“Take me to bed, L…take me to bed and I’ll let you do whatever you –  _ah!_ – whatever you wish,” Light pants.

“No,” L says, and Light can feel the grin against his neck. “Here.” 

“ _L_ ,” Light groans. “We’re  _out of doors_.”

“In our own gardens, husband,” argues L. “Surely you have nothing about which to protest.”

Light feels L’s hands slide from his hips down to the backs of his thighs. Before he knows it, L has lifted him up and pinned him against the manor wall. He stands in the middle of Light’s spread legs. Light wishes he had the strength of will to resist wrapping them around L’s waist.

He doesn’t.

“Oh gods…” Light breathes, suddenly feeling the hard length of L pressed tight against him. “L…L, the…the gardener…or one of the maids…hanging the linen to dry…” 

“They shall be none the wiser so long as we keep quiet. And night has almost fallen…they ought not to be out at this hour anyway.”

Light finds his hands in L’s hair, finds his back arching into a bow curve. He is doing nothing to quell this and everything to encourage it.

“You have always been…too persuasive for your own good,” Light says.

“Odd…I’ve always felt that I have been just persuasive enough,” says L. “Hold onto me now.”

Light obeys, squeezing his thighs around L’s hips and wrapping one arm around his shoulders. L’s hands slip between them. He unfastens Light’s trousers and yanks them in short, frustrated bursts, down past Light’s knees. The shorts go the same way, with a fair bit of coordination on Light’s part.

“Look at how you protest,” L murmurs, with dark satisfaction, “when here I see the truth.”

He takes Light in hand and strokes, a long, slow slide, with a sure grip. There is not much space between them, but somehow L manages to wring from Light an exquisite pleasure.

“ _L_ ,” Light moans, burying his face in the crook of L’s neck. 

“Yes? Tell me, Light…is this what you seek?” One hand braces Light under his thigh and the other keeps up the lovely torture.

“Absolutely,” Light sighs. “Absolutely.”

He bites down on L’s shirt collar, trying to quiet himself, as L continues. Practiced and steady, L knows just what to do to Light to drive him to the brink. And when Light is there, teetering on that edge of bliss, he cannot stop the constant stream of moans and pleading that pour from his lips.

But L denies him, pausing and saying, “Together…together. Let me in…let me in, Light, let me have you.”

“Yes…yes,” Light says. “Give me your hand.”

He takes L’s wrist and licks a long stripe from the bottom of his index finger to the tip. L watches intently, with shadowed eyes, as Light slides that finger between his lips. He sucks and mouths at it. Light knows what the sight of his mouth does to L under certain circumstances. And sure enough, L starts to rock his hips against Light’s rhythmically. Forward and back, leaving no doubt as to his intentions. Light grins. He worships the next finger, too, and the next, with wicked attention, until the wetness that remains on them shines in the dying sunlight.

“Do it,” Light says, and L needs no further command.

He works Light open steadily. It burns, with so little to ease the way, but Light enjoys the roughness for its own sake. He feels needed, and wanted, and claimed.

But L is careful, always so careful, and spends a good deal longer preparing Light than Light feels is entirely necessary.

“Take it,” he says hotly into L’s ear. “Take what is yours.”

L makes a sound like a pained sort of pleasure is coursing through him. “Are you certain?”

“Entirely,” Light assures him. “Take what’s yours, and give me what is mine.”

They rearrange themselves slightly, Light still pressed against the wall and L still holding him up, until they find positions that are suitable. Light reaches for L’s trousers, making short work of the fastenings and opening them quickly. Then he feels L press against him, hard and dripping wet. He wants the connection something fierce, wants the final puzzle pieces slid into correct place. It feels so  _good_  when L is inside him, making him so stretched and so full and –

“ _Ah! L! L, oh gods in heaven - ”_

“ _Light_ … _yes, a thousand times, yes - ”_

It isn’t long before L is thrusting up into Light, slow at first, then faster and faster.  _The_ strength _of him_ , Light thinks. He grits his teeth against the terrible pleasure, fighting the urge to scream.

“ _Oh gods, L, it’s good…it’s so good - ”_  

L covers his mouth with one hand, stifling him as he gets too loud. The rest comes out in a muffled whine. Then L uncovers his mouth again, apparently trusting Light’s control. Light forces himself down onto L, impaling himself with every upward thrust. He struggles to get to the point of no return. Completion and desire and carnal need are the only things his mind takes in.

Until Light hears a small, hidden sound, and his heart nearly stops inside his chest.

“L!” Light whispers suddenly, harshly, freezing in place. “Stop! I heard something!”

L stops, but his forehead drops to Light’s shoulder, and his breath comes out in labored huffs. “Light…”

“I tell you, I  _heard_ something!”

“It was but the wind, surely, or some owl or other,” L whispers.

Light remains frozen, listening intently and looking out over L’s shoulder into the garden beyond. There is very little light by which to see, but Light does his best. He searches and searches, seeing the flowers and bushes and their iron table set. All of it is so familiar, now, to Light’s eye, but he cannot overturn the feeling that something is out of place. He feels  _watched_. But whatever it was that made the sound is invisible to Light’s eye. And after a few more moments of tense silence, Light begins to doubt his own senses. 

“Light, a man has his limits,” L murmurs, giving a slow and somewhat experimental thrust.

Light’s eyelids flutter of their own accord, and he nods, taking L’s earlobe between his lips and sucking. 

L pulls out slowly, then slides in again. He repeats, and their rhythm get incrementally closer and closer to what it was before. And when it reaches that frenzied pace again, L pulls Light towards him by the hips, bringing them impossibly closer.

“Say it,” he whispers into the blue evening, against Light’s lips.

They kiss wetly, deeply, hungry for something more than physical completion.

When they pull apart, their eyes meet and they hold each other’s gaze. Feeling overwhelmed by it all, swept away all over again, Light says, “I’m yours.”

L slides one hand into his hair and touches their foreheads together. Light watches his dark eyes slide closed. 

“Say it again,” L urges. 

“I’m yours, L,” Light whispers. “I’m yours. Forever and ever.”

L thrusts hard, deep, exactly where Light needs.

“ _Ah!_  L…L, I…more…there, exactly there…”

“Light…gods…”

There is very little in the way of intelligible conversation from that point forward. The pleasure grows and grows until it peaks, and when it does, they both must fight hard to stifle their cries. 

When it is over, they gulp and gasp for air, throats parched. L pulls out, the place where they were connected sticky and vulgar.

“I cannot believe I let you sway me into - ”

But L is swiftly laughing, sharp and secret. He sets Light down again, looks down and to his right, then laughs harder. His eyes squeeze shut and he doubles over, full of wild mirth.  

“Might I inquire as to what on  _earth_  is so humorous?” Light asks, pulling up his trousers and feeling more than a bit peeved.

L doesn’t answer, just keeps laughing, making some kind of vague hand gesture. 

Then Light hears something to his left, something suspiciously akin to a  _meow._

It is Maneesh, watching them from under the nearby rose bush with glowing blue eyes. He stares and stares, motionless in everything but the tip of his tail, which flicks this way and that.

“Well,” Light mutters. “I did tell you I heard something.”


	11. Nexus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Light opens up to L the fact he thinks he’s gay.

The realization comes upon L slowly, which is unusual for him, as most realizations slam into his mind hard and fast, like freight trains. When he looks back on it, it is difficult to pinpoint the exact moment when he changed from the L who did not know to the L who did. Between late-night conversations (read: arguments) and early morning breakfasts, one truth about Yagami Light felt like it just…manifested itself, coming out from under the shadows and becoming brighter and brighter, until the thought of it ever being kept secret seemed ludicrous and unbelievable. (It is unusual for him to place this much importance on one piece of information. It isn’t as though it is useful for the investigation. It isn’t as though it is a clue. But perhaps it isn’t strictly the case that interests L right now.)

* * *

“Yagami-kun, do you believe in true love?” L asks one morning, early in their forced cohabitation, over scones and coffee.

Between one sip of coffee and the next, Light smiles, laughs a bit, like he thinks the question is a joke.

“Does anyone?” he answers, which isn’t really an answer at all.

“Of course,” says L. “Many people do, I expect.”

“Are you one of them?” asks Light. He keeps up a hint of the previous smile. One elbow rests casually on the tabletop, his chin sitting atop one lightly curled fist.

He is trying to deflect, and L says so.

Light stiffens a bit. The smile is nowhere to be seen now. (It means nothing, though. Light makes no expression, probably draws no _breath_ , without precise, calculated intent. So if he looks caught off guard, it doesn’t mean he really _is_ caught off guard.)

“So what if I am? This has nothing to do with the case. Are you going to lock me up again if I refuse to answer personal questions?”

L crunches into a scone. It is crispy on the outside. It is soft, warm, and _luscious_ inwardly.

“That would be counter-productive,” he says. “Besides…what if I am merely trying to get to know you better? Is that so wrong? We are friends, aren’t we?”

“Strange topic for friends,” Light remarks drily, looking away.

L shrugs. He goes back to his scone.

Silence reigns for about thirty seconds or so. Then:

“Oh for God’s sake, Ryuzaki,” Light blurts out. “We both know you’re asking because you’re trying to convince me, _yet again_ , to become intimate with Misa to get information about the second Kira. If I don’t believe in true love, you’ll say that there is no reason not to use my influence over Misa’s emotions to get information, since it could save many lives and won’t betray any hypothetical relationship with my True Love in the future. And if I _do_ believe in true love, you’ll say that any True Love of mine would understand the position I’m in, and approve of whatever means I used to save innocent – or not so innocent – people. Because anyone compatible with me would have to have the mentality that the ends justify the means.”

L nods. No point in denying it, after all.

Light sets down his coffee cup with a none-too-gentle sound.

“If you’re smart enough for all of that, you should be smart enough to know I’m not refusing to seduce Misa because of the existence or _non_ existence of any True Love,” Light tells him. “I’m refusing because it’s morally wrong. I have principles, Ryuzaki, and I’m asking you, _yet again_ , to respect them.”

L makes a conciliatory gesture toward Light, over the tabletop.

“Very well, Yagami-kun. My apologies,” he says.

More silence. They finish breakfast, and manage to walk down the stairs to the investigation desks and computers without tripping each other up on the long handcuff chain.

When they sit down next to each other, each at their own respective monitors, Light says, “If you really want to know: no, I don’t believe in true love. And I don’t _not_ believe in it either. I need evidence to make decisions, and I don’t have enough, at this point, to make a determination either way.”

L turns to look at him. He is met with shiny brown hair and a striking profile.

Then Light adds, with forced nonchalance, “And yes, we _are_ friends.”

He turns to meet L’s gaze. His lips turn up - just the barest bit – into a small smile.

L finds himself wanting to smile back, inexplicably. He doesn’t, because Rue Ryuzaki certainly would not. But he does allow himself a nod and sincere-sounding, “thank you, Yagami-kun.”

* * *

Misa doesn’t miss an opportunity to flirt with Light. If she is around, she is dancing around him, trying to catch his eye, or else whispering in his ear, or smiling and batting her long eyelashes in his directions.

Light, for his part, never misses an opportunity to rebuff her advances. If she tries to sit in his lap, he stands and moves away. If she hangs off of his arm, he takes it back, pretending to type up research notes.

It seems incomprehensible to Misa that anyone could spend any length of time with Light Yagami and not want to engage with him romantically. When L attached his wrist to Light’s with a length of metal chain, her mind immediately jumped to L’s sexual preferences and how he clearly wanted Light near for his own gratification. When L corrected her, Misa reacted to him as a jealous lover would to a rival.

Misa is endearing, in her way, and L takes her accusations in stride. He takes her unwanted desserts, and bonks her on the head with paper megaphones, and occasionally joins her in teasing Light.

But even as he does these things, he remains acutely aware of his prime suspect. And he notes that throughout Misa’s endless flirtations, and her endless insinuations about L’s alleged homosexuality, Light remains conspicuously silent.

* * *

“I’m not _lying_ to you, Ryuzaki!” Light screams. His voice - habitually an octave higher than most males his age, in order that he may appear kind, agreeable, and generally _soft_ \- goes an octave down. L realizes that this is how Light would sound normally, if he would allow himself to be even halfway authentic.

L prefers this voice. L will always prefer Light in his most truthful form. He will always be annoyed when Light obfuscates, or conceals, or downright lies.

“You are. You have been for months. You _are_ Kira. There’s no question. Simply admit it.”

“I _won’t_!” yells Light, going so far as to stomp his foot. The moon shines itself like a spotlight on him.

“You hide yourself from everyone, all the time,” L says. “It is exhausting, isn’t it? Playing a part every second of every day? Wouldn’t it be nice to be honest with one person, at least? Wouldn’t it be nice to be honest with me?”

“I _am_ honest with you! You’re too blind to see what’s right in front of you!”

“I have been called many things, Yagami-kun, but blind is not one of them,” says L mildly.

“That’s because I’m the only one you’ve ever met who’s smart enough to see it! You, with your pseudonyms and your computers and the goddamn _persona_ you wear like a second skin! _You_ want to lecture _me_ about authenticity?” Light says, viciously. “Despite all your poking and prodding and invasions of privacy and _these_ fucking things” - he brandishes the wrist with the handcuff on it - “despite _all_ that, I’ve _never_ lied to you!”

“Yagami-kun,” L scoffs. “You haven’t even been able to tell me the real reason you won’t investigate Misa.”

“I won’t _manipulate_ her because I have _principles_! How many times to do I have tell you?!”

“Principles…” muses L. “Well, there may be some truth to that. But there is another reason. A deeper reason, something you won’t admit to me. I don’t know if you’ve even admitted it to yourself.”

And just like that, they’re no longer talking about the case.

Light’s eyes narrow, and his lips set themselves into an unbending line. The air surrounding them seems to chill all at once, and solidify like glass. Like ice. L wonders, for the first time in his life, if he has perhaps pushed someone too far.

“How _dare_ you. How _dare_ you!” Light hisses. “To think that I…that I honestly thought…”

He laughs, and it is a twisted, broken, furious sound.

“You can’t leave well enough alone, can you? It’s not enough for you to solve crimes? You have to _push_ people and push and push and push until they break open. You want whatever anyone is hiding, whether it’s relevant to a crime or not! You can’t let _anyone_ hold _anything_ private, can you? You are _so goddamned cold_.”

Light delivers this diatribe with the harshest intonation L has ever heard another human being utter. Then he turns around, presenting L with his back, and stands, if possible, even taller and prouder than before.

“Congratulations, L. You’ve solved another mystery. Even if I were completely and utterly morally bankrupt, I wouldn’t be able to manipulate Misa the way you want me to. I couldn’t manipulate any woman that way. Not without a hell of a lot of mental gymnastics, anyway, and maybe the threat of torture as an incentive.” 

L says nothing. He never thought that Light would say so much, and he truly doesn’t know where to go from here.

“Nothing to say, Mr. Detective? I bet it’s still not enough for you. Not clear enough, or open enough, or _honest_ enough, huh? I haven’t cut open my stomach and spilled my guts on the floor in front of you, so you aren’t satisfied. Fine. I suppose I’d hate for you to think me a coward, as well as a liar. So how’s this?”

Light turns around again, meeting L’s eyes with none of his typical kind-heartedness. None of his typical _humanity_.

“I’m gay.”

Still, L cannot speak. He can only stare. The moonlight pours down around Light’s shiny hair, creating the faintest of halos.

“Still nothing to say, huh? Why so quiet?” Light jeers. He can be truly vengeful when he wants to be. “Maybe instead of uncovering everyone else’s secrets, you ought to pay some attention to your own, detective.”

And with that, Light pulls the two of them to the computers, opens a browser window, and throws himself into research.

L tries to do the same, and finds himself a failure. 


	12. Wrath - Tabloid Reports L and Light Divorcing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the ficlet that came out of me asking myself the question, “how would L and Light get divorced?” Answer: dramatically, and with a lot (A LOT) of wrath.
> 
> Fic is written in the manner of a trashy gossip magazine.

**_The Dynamic Detective Duo is Calling it Quits!_ ** _  
_

_The Great Detective L Lawliet and Detective Extraordinaire Light Yagami are Hiring Lawyers in What Looks to be a Nasty Divorce! Full Story Inside!_

Notoriously private and seemingly inseparable, the world-famous L Lawliet and his longtime lover Light Yagami have long been the apple of the public eye. This esteemed periodical, _Detective Watch_ , has seen them bring justice to victims the world over _._ They have solved countless international crimes, and together are estimated to have caught 1,245 criminals to date. And it hasn’t only been justice on their minds! _Detective Watch_ can report that the two young men have been spotted _in flagrante delicto_ everywhere from Milan to Zimbabwe, from Sydney to New York, from Beijing to Rio de Janeiro. It is widely reported that the pair married just one year ago in a private ceremony in London. They seemed to have had a passion for the ages.

But the honeymoon is over! Sources report that both detectives have hired attorneys specializing in divorce proceedings. Though we cannot confirm or deny these reports, it is widely believed that Light filed for divorce last week, citing “ _irreconcilable differences or whatever the fuck they’re calling it these days when you married a complete asshole_.” Ouch! Burn! For his part, L seems not to be outdone. _Detective Watch_ has obtained exclusive copies of a subpoena sent from L’s lawyers to his former beau. We have learned that L is suing Light for sole ownership of 5 out of 7 jointly-owned mansions, including a private island bungalow in the South Pacific, estimated to be worth 65 million British pounds. (Longtime readers will recall that this bungalow was widely rumored to be the place where L and Light’s passionate affair was first consummated.) In turn, Light’s attorneys have documented their intentions to counter-sue. They seek proprietorship of various pieces of intellectual property from the Lawliet-Yagami estate, as well as sole custody of a standard poodle named Romeo. A wide range of reliable sources report that L Lawliet responded personally to this countersuit, in the form of barricading the entrance to Light Yagami’s residence in Tokyo with several thousand kilograms of Puppy Chow. (Light Yagami is still rumored to be trapped inside.)

We have reached out to representatives of both parties for comment on this developing story but have received no reply as of the time of this printing. Will L and Light come to an understanding and save their rocky relationship? Will they part ways amicably? Or will these divorce proceedings turn into an all-out bloodbath? Only time will tell! Stick with _Detective Watch_ for all the latest developments!

_***Subscribe to Detective Watch for weekly updates on all the latest celebrity detective news! One month’s subscription is just $7.99 USD. Take advantage of our special, limited-time offer and lock in your access to all things celebrity detective for a full year! Purchase a yearly subscription for only $79.99 USD!_


	13. Soulmate AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soulmate au pleeeeeeeease!!

What’s hilarious is…he doesn’t even believe in Soulmates. Well, yes, he believes in oxytocin and dopamine and the biological drive to procreate. He even believes in love, on his more romantic days.

 

But a Soulmate? This _one_ person who gives you everything you never even knew you needed? Someone _destined_ for you?  No.

 

Which is why it’s hilarious that he’s breaking into the Soulmate Letter Directory right now.

 

It’s not because he wants to find out who is listed as _his_ soulmate. Whatever name scrawled there in red cursive on the directory would be of no consequence to him.

 

He just wants the government to be held accountable, is all.

 

Because even if the very concept of a Soulmate is rubbish, L still needs truth out there. He can’t stand the conspiracy. The cover-up.

 

And this is one of the greatest cover-ups of all time: that an oligarchy in control of the SLD actually _knows_ everyone’s destined partner. They keep _track_. It’s not that those letters people send addressed to “X’s Soulmate” get delivered by magic, or by spiritual energy, or that the soul actually pulls the letter toward itself when it is sent, as so many people believe.

 

No…L has found out that a select group of powerful individuals send the letters – and use the knowledge of who a person’s Soulmate is against them.  

 

A select group of individuals _know_ who everyone’s most important person is. And L is certain that they who control that knowledge are using it for personal gain. After all, what greater token of blackmail could one find than the identity of a Soulmate?

 

Why, one threat against them and you could control a person’s entire fortune. You could control their future, too. You could do anything to them, and they’d be powerless to stop it.

 

Nobody could stand to risk their Soulmate’s life.

 

(Well, no one except L, who doesn’t believe in those things. But L is an aberration in many ways, and doesn’t consider himself one of the masses.)

 

Back to the point. The point is: the vast majority of the world _does_ believe in Soulmates, and people have killed (or worse) to protect theirs.

 

So L is breaking into the SLD. He’ll take the Directory, and make the knowledge public.

 

Destroy what makes the oligarchy powerful, destroy the oligarchy. Simple. Elegant. L likes elegant solutions.

 

It’s dark, and deceptively still. L is just inside the first layer of security: a fifty-foot wall, sealed with retina scanners and surrounded by security guards built like linebackers.

 

In other words, a joke.

 

After slipping past the wall, he had found himself inside of a vast, circular inner room – cold and dark and seemingly deserted.

 

Now…where was that second layer to be found?

 

L is inspecting a suspicious-looking blinking green light when a sound catches his attention: a sharp intake of breath, like the sound someone makes when they stub their toe on something in the dead of night.

 

Weighing the odds of getting himself killed if he speaks and finding them favorable to remaining silent, L calls out, “Who’s there?”

 

Only silence greets him, but it’s a tense silence, and L knows he wasn’t imagining the sound he heard.

 

Someone is there. Someone who doesn’t want to be found.

 

Interesting.

 

“Speak,” L commands, in a clear voice. “Or SLD security will make you.”

 

Whoever it is apparently decides to reveal themselves, because instead of an answer, L hears a soft laughter – bell-like but decidedly masculine, and from someone who is either young or naïve to cigarette smoke. Or both. 

 

“You aren’t SLD security, or any other kind of security,” says his companion, and L was right – it’s a young man. He speaks in a low, thoughtful voice. “And neither am I. So we can either let each other go about our business, or we can call even more attention to ourselves and _actually_ bring security here. Which do you want?”

 

…interesting.

 

Thinking that his silence will be answer enough, L goes back to inspecting the green blinking light. The knowledge of the loaded Beretta tucked into his waistband does him some small amount of comfort.

 

After employing some thoughtful reverse-engineering and a miniature welding torch, L escapes the dark circle. Evidently his companion has chosen to take a similar course, because L is followed out of it.

 

When he looks over his shoulder, he sees that the man is wearing black from head to toe, including the hood he has pulled over his hair, and the long scarf wrapped around his neck, which covers his nose and mouth.

 

Their eyes meet, momentarily, and L feels a flash of…something…before the man looks away.

 

L lets himself stare for a few moments more, then remembers his mission.

 

They have emerged into a room filled with brilliant golden light. The ceiling is so high that L cannot see it, and all around them are shelves upon shelves, stuffed with envelopes and small packages, tied with red string.

 

L was expecting to find someone, anyone, here…someone who could lead him to the oligarchy that controls the SLD, if not the oligarchy itself. But the room is completely deserted.

 

There’s a raised dais in the center, with a notebook lying open on it. It can only be the Directory. L is drawn forward, as if by something outside his own power.

 

Inches from the platform, inches from taking a closer look, snatching the notebook, and completing his mission, his companion halts him.

 

L finds a Colt .45 aimed between his eyes, held out fixed and steady.

 

Lucky that he is possessed of reflexes that are faster than average. They have never yet failed him, and do not choose now to begin. Without even thinking, he has his Beretta similarly aimed.

 

They are nearly of the same height, and there’s a pretty sort of symmetry to how they hold each other at gun-point.

 

“Look, just find your letter and go. Don’t make me say it twice.”

 

“I’m not here to find a letter,” L says.

 

This isn’t the first time he has been held at gun-point. And if he is to die here, then die he shall. It would have happened eventually, anyway. L is not afraid.

 

And at least one part of the oligarchy has been identified. L is sure this man knows something.

 

Maybe he knows everything.

 

Their eyes have met again, naturally, and L feels that same…flash…again. And he is closer now. He can see better. There is something shimmering in those brown irises. Japanese words?

 

His Japanese is rusty, especially when it’s not written in romanji, but L makes do.

 

_Night. God. Moon._

 

What on earth?

 

All of a sudden, his enemy’s eyes widen, and suddenly L finds that the gun pointed at him has begun to lower, just slightly.

 

“It can’t be,” his companion whispers.

 

“What can’t be?” L asks, and he will remain curious right up to the end, won’t he?

 

“You never sent anything!” the young man suddenly shouts. “If you’ve been alive all this time…why would you never _send_ anything? Was even a postcard too much to ask?”

 

Slowly, things begin to coalesce in L’s mind, and he feels the first few tremors of fear that he has experienced all night.

 

He doesn’t know what to say. It’s not a common feeling, for him.

 

“You won’t even _speak_ to me, either? Unbelievable!” the young man continues to shout. He flings his gun across the room, and it hits the marble floor with a clash that echoes all around them. “Oh, put that thing down already, will you?” he snaps with audible distaste. “It’s no use against me. You can’t kill your own Soulmate.”

 

L still cannot speak, and doesn’t like the feeling.

 

“God, you _must_ understand what I’m talking about. You were smart enough to break in here, weren’t you? I’m your Soulmate. Your One and Only. Your True Love? The person most compatible with you in the whole world?”

 

L opens his mouth, then closes it again.

 

The man makes a frustrated, animalistic noise, and pushes the hood off of his head. He rips the scarf away too, throwing it angrily onto the floor.

 

“I saw your name in your eyes!” he shouts. “L Lawliet. And I know you saw mine. Light Yagami?”

 

L knew his Japanese was rusty, but not _that_ rusty.

 

But…by the Gods, this…this _Light_ _Yagami_ …is beautiful. L still doesn’t believe in Soulmates, but he is not so proud that he won’t admit to finding him the most beautiful man – person, actually – that L has ever seen.

 

Shining brown hair, perfect nose, eyes like those of a doe (but sharper, clearer, and more ruthless somehow, but in the most attractive way). Lips like they were carved by Michelangelo.  

 

“Will you _say_ something?” Light demands. He even goes so far as to stamp his foot.

 

L says the first thing that comes to mind.

 

(No, no, he doesn’t. He says the third thing that comes to mind, the thing he believes will frustrate Light Yagami the most. Just to see what will happen, and how easily L can push his buttons, and test whether or not L will be leaving this place with more than just the Directory in his hands.)

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you are absolutely stunning?” L asks. He makes a point of looking at Light as though he is a piece of filet mignon on special.

 

“Oh for God’s sake,” Light snaps. “Has anyone ever told _you_ that you’re absolutely infuriating? Will you answer my damned question already? Why did you never _write_?”

 

 _Oh yes_ , L thinks. _Ohhhhh yes._

 

“As it happens, I don’t believe in Soulmates,” he answers, with deliberate unconcern. “Why should I have written? And I might just as well ask you the same question. Why did you never write yourself?”

 

“You don’t _believe_ in Soulmates?” Light asks, aghast and seemingly disgusted. “How can…who would…that’s like saying you don’t believe in the moon! Or the stars! Or…or…the _atmosphere_!”

 

L shrugs. “To each his own, I suppose. But you haven’t yet explained why you didn’t take it upon yourself to write to me. You clearly knew who I was.”

 

Color rises high on Light’s cheeks, but his expression doesn’t betray any embarrassment, or shame. On the contrary, he seems nothing so much as furious.

 

“So not only do you have no belief in Soulmates, but you also lack even one romantic bone in your entire body,” he bites out. “Fine. So long as we’re doing this the difficult way, I’ll tell you. I had access to the Directory. You didn’t. Forgive me if I wanted to know the way in which you’d…reach out…to me. Forgive me for the apparently unspeakable crime of wanting to be _surprised_. Dare I say, _wooed_.”

 

Light rolls his eyes in further disgust and turns away. When he speaks again, it is with his back toward L.

 

“I know you want the Directory. You’re not getting it. Not in a million years would I let you take it. Especially when you don’t even believe in it yourself. The world could use a little more joy in it. A little more love, or do you not believe in that either? It doesn’t matter. I’m keeping it. I worked damn hard for it and not even my _Soulmate_ ” – he says the word with dripping sarcasm – “will take it from me. People are going to keep getting their letters, and keep sending them, and finding their One and Onlys, and having that small bit of magic in their lives.”

 

“You expect me to believe that you – and you alone – manage the letters for the entire world’s Soulmates?” L asks.

 

Looking over his shoulder at L with a dry, almost pitying expression, Light says, “You say that like it would be difficult.”

 

L doesn’t believe in Soulmates. He doesn’t.

 

“And you do all of this for…what? Profit? Do you charge for postage? Influence? Power? Blackmail?”

 

Light turns away again, presenting L with his back once more. “What kind of life must you have lived, to think that someone would only bring lovers together for profit or for power?” he asks quietly.

 

L doesn’t dignify that (piercing, painful, _compassionate_ ) question with a response.

 

“It isn’t right for one person to have all this knowledge,” he says, instead. “You could easily turn the world into one of your own making. You could be a god.”

 

Light sighs, heavily. “If I were anyone else, you might have a point, Mr. Lawliet. But I’m not like everyone else. I’m different. And I suspect that you are too. So leave it be. And leave me be, while you’re at it.”

 

L spares several moments’ thought on his next move, then steps up very close to Light. He comes close enough to feel his chest against Light’s own back when he breathes, to smell his cologne, to speak his next words right into Light’s ear.

 

“You’re not infallible, Light Yagami, even if you do come very, very close,” L says. “And as determined as you are, I would wager that I am just as much. So…even if I don’t believe in Soulmates…I believe we could be something.”

 

L leans in, using his voice to his advantage. He’s been told that it is rich and dark enough to penetrate even the most obstinate of ears. “Enemies? Lovers? Both?”

 

Light does a fair job of hiding it, but L can read his desire in the slight quickness of his breath, the fine trembles in his fingertips.

 

“If you plan to use your soul to seduce mine into giving you the Directory, you’ll be sorely disappointed, L Lawliet,” he says quietly.

 

“Oh, Light Yagami,” L chuckles. “I’m counting on it.”


	14. NSFW - Rimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet prompt: Please feel free to ignore this if you don't want to write it (I've never requested a nsfw fic before, so I'm not sure what's "appropriate" and I know some people don't like it): Rimming with Light on the receiving end. He's hesitant about it at first but grows to really enjoy it

“It isn’t anything to be uncomfortable about, Light,” says L. “Really, it’s positively vanilla, all things considered. Certainly there are many more…alternative…practices we’ve yet to try.”

He follows up this pronouncement by licking a stripe of icing off of his index finger.

Light looks away. “Use a napkin. You’re a man, not an animal.”

L grins at him in a positively feral sort of way.

* * *

“I’ll have you know that if you try it without giving me fair warning, I’ll deck you,” Light tells him a few days later, apropos of nothing. “I mean it.”

L chuckles, like he’s just humoring Light, and it’s as irritating as it is sexy.

“As you wish.”

* * *

“I suppose you heard about this through disgusting forays into pornography?” Light asks drily, later that day.

“Oh goodness no,” L replies. “I’ve never acted in pornography. Though not for lack of opportunity.”

Light is horrified to discover that he can’t tell with certainty whether or not L is only joking.

“I didn’t mean _acting_ in it, L,” he hisses.

“Ah…merely watching it, then? Well…we all undergo our sexual education uniquely, yes?”

Light sighs. He’d really rather not know.

* * *

L _does_ end up warning him, in that oblique but unmistakable way of his, one night as they are wrapping up a case.

Light’s shower is twice as long as it usually is before he goes to bed.

* * *

“Surely you realize that I am not capable of doing anything to it when I can’t even see it, Light,” says L mildly. “I am many things but a magician is not one of them.”

“Well, _excuse me_ ,” Light snaps. “It’s not a position I’m accustomed to, you know.”

He takes a deep breath, then rearranges himself a bit.

“Better,” L comments. “A bit more now…”

Light grits his teeth. Spreads his legs further apart.

“That’s it…now lift up a little and –”

“This is ridiculous,” Light says, starting to sit up. “I can’t believe I even considered –”

“Light,” L interrupts, in that deep, commanding tone he sometimes gets. Light feels a hand press down onto his lower back. “Lie down, and do as I ask. If you don’t like it, we needn’t do it again. But give me the chance at least once.”

Light’s heart pounds with indecision. Eventually, though, he obeys.

He can’t imagine a less dignified position to be in. He’s on his stomach, legs apart, knees bent slightly, hips tilted up and back.

L is kneeling between his legs, seeing it all. Seeing _too much_.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, and Light wants to hate him for that, he really does.

Then L’s hands are on his bottom, spreading him even further. Light feels something wet and viscous hit the small of his back and slide down between his cheeks.

“Did you just –” Light asks immediately, unable to even finish the question.

“Oh, Light, really…you’re more than familiar with my saliva by now, surely.”

Light huffs, saying, “That’s not the _point_ L.”

“And what is the point, hmm?” asks L.

“The point is that I – _ah!_ –”

It’s everything and nothing like Light was expecting. He doesn’t know precisely _what_ he expected, actually. It’s such a…a _vulgar_ thing to do. To have done to oneself.

And yet…and yet…to have L’s mouth – L’s _tongue_ – to have it…there…is…shocking and electric and wet and hot and…

Light realizes that he must have jumped halfway off the bed. He’s not in the same position anymore.

There’s a shuffling behind him, something that sounds like L sitting up.

“Shall I continue?” asks L, sounding far too casual about the whole thing.

Light clenches his teeth. “If you must.”

L chuckles. He’s probably thinking that Light wants to _ask_ L for it. L is insufferable. Light doesn’t _want_ it. L asked, and L really is the pervert that Misa always accused him of being. Light is indulging L, not the other way around. And one of these days, Light is really going to –

“ _Ah! Christ!_ ”

Light’s shout does nothing but encourage him. L licks an obscene stripe right over Light’s hole, then wriggles the very tip of his tongue against it. Light feels him press against it and pull back, press against and pull back, over and over and over.

It’s wicked, and decadent, and lewd.

“Oh, Light,” L says, when he pulls back enough to speak. “Would it truly kill you to relax, even here?”

As he talks, Light feels two palms slowly caressing his bottom.

“I’ve only just begun, after all,” L adds, and then curls his fingers into handfuls of Light’s ass and _squeezes_.

Light is hard as a fucking rock.

“Look, if you want to fuck me, just fuck me,” Light snaps. “I don’t know why you insist on playing these games - !!”

L dives in again while Light talks, and his voice ends up rising three octaves on the last word.

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” L murmurs darkly, right up against Light’s skin. He licks again, tongue drenched in spit, dripping, sliding against Light’s hole like L is actually _hungry_ for it.

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t lay there and let me work you open, bit by bit, hour by hour, until even you yourself couldn’t control your own mouth,” L continues.

He flicks his tongue back and forth against Light’s hole, insistently, impatiently. Rough and demanding and spoiled in that way that only L can be. 

And damn L straight to hell, but it turns out that he’s absolutely right.


	15. Napoleon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could you write about Light suffering to cover his tracks as L and alive Naomi Misora close in on Kira? I just saw this really cool quote "my horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration at his skill" or something (Sherlock) and I thought Light's despair is slowly driving him to admire L as this benemoth of Justice and that he may have chewed more than he can swallow. Introspective writing is appreciated. All from Light's point of view. And congrats! :D

 There is a metaphor, somewhere, Light is almost sure, that would fit this situation beautifully. But he can’t remember it.

 

Maybe something Shakespearean. Maybe something Greek. Maybe something he saw once in a documentary on the life of Napoleon.

 

Napoleon, who failed. Napoleon, who was defeated.

 

Light was taught in history classes that Napoleon bit off more than he could chew, that he was consumed by an inferiority complex, that he lived in apartments more lavish than he deserved.

 

That he wanted to rule the world.

 

And sure, Light can see the obvious comparisons (maybe he would have gotten on well with Napoleon, had they ever met. Maybe they would have become friends. But Light sincerely doubts it, and that’s not the point anyway.), but there is one crucial difference:

 

Light will not lose.

 

* * *

 

L is smarter than Light gave him credit for at first. Light doesn’t like to repeat mistakes, and so he won’t. He knows L better now. Light is careful. He can’t afford to be rash. One mistake could mean the death of not only himself, but the entire future of the world as well.

 

So he plans, and plans, and plans.

 

And for a while, things go according to those plans. For a while, Light is even tempted to feel reassured.

 

Then the floor falls out from underneath his feet, and Light thinks of the suicide pill Napoleon carried with him into battle – just in case.

 

* * *

 

Napoleon took that pill, Light remembers abruptly, and he survived anyway.

 

* * *

 

Light fights, and fights, and fights. He thinks he might just emerge victorious sometimes, but he fears complacency and the mistakes that it brings, so he pushes away the hope, and works harder.

 

L has a colleague, or an ex-colleague, or something of that nature. Naomi Misora.

 

Upon meeting her, Light realizes the true extent of his own misogyny. After L’s little stunt, he had told himself never again to underestimate an opponent, and he had thought he learned the lesson.

 

But apparently he didn’t, because Naomi Misora gets close. _Too_ close.

 

She has a cleverness all her own.

 

* * *

 

Light can’t kill her. He tries everything. Every trick in the book and few new ones he wrote just for the occasion, and still she won’t die.

 

More than that, Light discovers that she has made contact with L.

 

Light thinks of all the damage they could do, all the information they could uncover, if they were to work together.

 

His hands shake.

 

* * *

 

Light _wants_ to be angry with L. He _wants_ to hate him. And in a way, he does.

 

But in another, deeper, way…Light finds his anger being overshadowed by something that in anyone else would resemble admiration.

 

But Light doesn’t admire people. He admires ideals. Freedom, equality, beneficence, truth.

 

Justice.

 

But…L has almost _become_ an ideal, hasn’t he? He has almost _become_ Justice. He has the world at his fingertips, and any criminal he wants to catch, he catches.

 

The police can’t touch him, in terms of success rate.

 

Light can’t touch him, in terms of reputation.

 

And even if Light is not (not not not, emphatically _not_ ) a criminal…maybe L is going to catch him too.

 

* * *

 

It is not in Light’s nature to surrender (he thinks), but while he strategizes and plots and struggles for his utopia…a part of his mind just sits back and…watches.

 

Yes, Naomi is a force to be reckoned with, and his mind is fascinated by her. But it is L that he looks at night after night, and cannot un-see.

 

L, who is so ruthless, so cunning, so maddeningly _brilliant_ in his hunt. L, who shouldn’t be so _good_ at this. No one should be. Light has gone through life thinking that no one could be, and now someone is - L is - and it’s as frightening as it is irresistible. That part of his mind that won’t let L out of its sight is softening, weakening, and pulling Light even further down the path of defeat.

 

Napoleon had Russia.

 

Light has L.

 

* * *

 

It’s such a pathetic way to lose, Light thinks bitterly.

 

 _So weak_ , he thinks, when L approaches, and he feels his heart pound.

 

* * *

 

It’s only a matter of time.

 

* * *

 

Light thinks about Napoleon’s exile to the island of Elba.

 

Could he hope for that much?

 

* * *

 

 _Napoleon’s death has been widely contested_ , said that documentary Light watched. _Some scholars have pointed to stomach cancer, which killed Napoleon’s own father, but others suspect arsenic poisoning. Napoleon’s autopsy was reportedly performed by his physician, Francois Antommarchi, but the official report was never signed._

* * *

 

Light knows what will kill him. He doesn’t need an autopsy conducted to be confident of that.


	16. DN Drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is writing about death note drama a prompt? I love it and theres not enough fic for it, and you are a really great writer and it would be a bless. Thank you dear.

“ _That sweet looking son of yours_ ,” L had said, and Soichiro doesn’t think he ought to be dwelling on the comment, but somehow he…he just is.

 

He can’t help it. He tells himself that it meant nothing – that L was either commenting on Light’s apparent innocence or on his clear beneficent, obedient nature. Maybe both. He tells himself that L wasn’t commenting on _anything_ really, and was just trying to get a rise out of Soichiro. See how he would react. Use that reaction for his investigation.

 

But all of Soichiro’s self-talk does him no good.

 

Inside, in that part of him that is quietest and softest but also his most authentic, Soichiro thinks that L _did_ mean something in his words. Or rather, that he meant to imply something. Not something about Light’s nature but rather something about Light’s attractiveness.

 

“ _That sweet-looking son of yours_ ,”

 

Those where the words L had used. And he had spoken them with that sly, knowing grin. A teasing glint in his eyes to go along with it, too.

 

If Light had been a girl, Soichiro would have no doubt about just what L was implying.

 

Which really shouldn’t matter. For all Soichiro knows, L has no interest in women. L could be quite, quite gay – there was no evidence to the contrary.

 

It isn’t Soichiro’s business to speculate on L’s…preferences. Even if those preferences lie with his own son. Light would never reciprocate L’s attentions. If attentions they even really were, in the end.

 

…would he?

 

There really wasn’t any evidence for that conclusion. Soichiro has to admit it. Light has never showed much interest in girls.

 

And what if L didn’t care for Light’s rejections at all? L is powerful, brilliant, resourceful, influential in the extreme. Why, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to see something he wanted and simply take it –

 

No. No…Soichiro must get a hold of himself. L wouldn’t do something like that. Soichiro has met rapists, interrogated them, arrested them and testified against them at trial. L is not like them, not one of them, and he never could be.

 

“ _That sweet-looking son of yours_ ,”

 

Still, the words echo inside his head, over and over.

 

Soichiro hates this pointless ruminating.

 

He opens another file, fighting hard to maintain his concentration on the document in front of him, and only that document. Nothing else.

 

By sheer force of will, Soichiro manages to push the phrase out of his mind for several hours.

 

But later, he watches as L and Light see each other face-to-face for the first time (eyes meeting and hands clasping and thumbs rubbing and seconds turning into minutes turning into hours in just the space of a few moments and fewer words) and L’s little phrase comes racing back to him instantly. Plants itself there in his brain and takes root. Grows larger. Grows louder.

 

All Soichiro can really know for sure is:

 

_This cannot possibly end well._

 

And Soichiro turns out to be right. It doesn’t.


	17. 1950s Omegaverse 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if it's allowed, but would you consider writing more of your 1950s omegaverse AU? I still think about it (and reread it haha), so I figured I'd ask. ;D Congrats on 500 followers!! <3 (And Happy Holidays!)

Six heats. Since that fateful first, Light has found himself tangled up with L in various states of mindlessness an additional five times.

He doesn’t know how he let this happen.

(He does, actually. He does. He knows exactly how it happened. It started with L in his black leather jacket and his tight blue jeans. It continued with his sinful leers and that cracking whip of a mind. It came crashing down to slick-wet sheets mere hours before Light’s heat set in, when Light thankfully had the wits to gasp out, “Don’t you dare bite me,” and L had shook his head, chuckling. “Don’t flip your lid, baby,” he had said, speaking against Light’s lips. “We’re just having fun.”)

They’ve graduated now. Light finds himself the vice president of a company he couldn’t care less about, and L…L does something in research somewhere. He keeps himself very tight-lipped about it, and Light won’t admit enough of his curiosity to ask.

He doesn’t ask for L’s presence during his heats either, but somehow, some way, they always seem to meet right before one of them. And L doesn’t wear his leather jacket anymore, but Light always manages to get pulled in all the same.

Light’s mother and father know nothing of L, and Light plans to keep it that way. L is not the kind of person Light ever imagined introducing his parents to. Light is a calm, controlled, _dignified_ sort of person. Accomplished.

He isn’t _fast._ But something about L just makes him want to floor it.

They’re in a hotel – well-appointed, expensive, and discreet. Their room is on the top floor. Light booked it under an assumed name.

He’s got L’s back pressed up against the door.

“Thought you’d give me a bell,” L is murmuring into Light’s ear, and Light can feel him smirking. “It’s right on schedule, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” Light grits out. He’s fighting to get L’s shirt off, and frustrated at how much effort it takes to speak even those few, simple words. He has an hour…maybe less…before the heat takes him over.

L ignores Light’s words completely. “Can I say we’re going steady now?” he asks. “How ‘bout it, Light? I’ll even give you my old jacket to wear.”

“Fucking alphas,” Light mutters, losing his patience completely and ripping L’s shirt off.

“Oh hoh hooooooh,” croons L, sounding impressed. He just stands there, watching Light do all the work, like it’s a movie and he’s got front-row seats. “Careful there, cookie…you’ll make me think you’ve got the hots for me or somethin’.”

Light drops to his knees, tearing at L’s belt with trembling hands. Fucking hormones and fucking sensory-motor impairment. He gets the belt off eventually and throws it to his left. His right? Whatever. Behind himself somewhere. And from there, he starts in on the button and zip.

L can act out all of his high-and-mighty-above-it-all _bullshit_ but Light knows the truth. L will enter a rut this side of ten minutes…Light can see how close he is. The evidence is right there in front of Light’s mouth.

He looks up at L and sees…yes…right there. That gleam in L’s eyes. That shine. And his eyes narrow with a familiar, predatory air.

“Something you’ve got in mind, then?” L asks, his voice dropping an octave or two.

Light revises his estimate. L will be in rut within five minutes, tops.

“I _said_ ,” Light tells him, very deliberately, “shut _up_.”

And then, Light’s mouth is too much occupied, and L’s senses too much overloaded, for them to say much else that night.


	18. Sneaking Around and Running out of Excuses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light and L sneaking around HQ while the investigation is going on and slowly running out of excuses to take a break because they can't keep their hands off each other

“I really think Ryuzaki needs some Pepto Bismol, ya know?” Matsuda says. He’s trying to whisper, but Mogi’s quite sure that it would be quieter if he just spoke normally. That whisper _carries_.

And Mogi would know. His hearing is exceptional. 

Mogi tries his best to be both polite _and_ discourage this line of conversation. It’s a fine line that he has to walk sometimes.

This investigation as a whole means walking a fine line. (How could it not be? Mogi’s boss is the father of their prime suspect. …and the lead investigator is almost certainly sleeping with that suspect. Let us not forget.)

(Mogi wishes he could.)

(…But L and Light are making it so _difficult_.)

“Hm,” is the sound he makes, small and without eye contact.

“I’m being serious!” Matsuda hisses, leaning over and practically speaking into Mogi’s ear. “He’s dragged Light to the bathroom 4 times today! This is number 5! …I wonder if he has irritable bowel syndrome. Maybe that’s why he only eats sweet things!”

Mogi has to hold in his sigh. What must it be like to exist as Touta Matsuda? To believe wholeheartedly in the existence of pure, genuine innocence? Mogi doesn’t know.

“Do you have the brief on that Yotsuba debt consultant?” he asks, hoping that Matsuda’s attention span isn’t as impressive as his naiveté.

“Oh no! I forgot it in the…wait…hmm…” Matsuda says, rummaging around several of his desk drawers. His entire head disappears in the largest drawer, and Mogi has to give credit where credit is due: when Matsuda commits to a task, he _commits_.

Matsuda’s search for the brief buys Mogi over thirty minutes of blessed quiet.

Which L and Light promptly steal from him when they emerge from the bathroom.

The handcuffs are firmly in place, the clothes are on (thank goodness), (and they’re only slightly more rumpled), the hair is…well, it’s a lost cause, honestly. Light is not-so-subtly attempting to finger comb his own.

But Mogi would be willing to overlook all of that if it weren’t for the damning evidence right there on both of their faces.

Their cheeks – their red, flushed, _glowing_ cheeks - make Mogi want to stand up, throw up his hands, and declare the investigation officially terminated. Deceased. Do not resuscitate, do not pass go and collect two hundred American dollars. Sayonara. We hardly knew ye, and next time, please come back as something less _obscene_.

Because those blushes? Those blushes are going to be the death of the entire case. They probably already are. Before this, Mogi would have bet his last yen that L was incapable of blushing.

Oh, how wrong he was. How wrong.

“Oh my God!” Matsuda shouts, when his face re-emerges from his desk drawer and he sees the two of them. “Ryuzaki! I think you have a fever!”

Mogi really does sigh this time. It’s not loud enough (sadly) for him to miss Aizawa’s colorful take on the situation. 

From across the room, he hears the man mutter, “A fever. Tch. I’ll say.”

“I am quite well, Mr. Matsuda,” L answers, sounding cranky and irritable. Bad-tempered, like a five-year-old who missed naptime.

“Idiot,” Light says to him, in a biting whisper. “Next time, we’re saying we’re getting coffee. I swear to god, you suck at this.” 

Mogi’s hearing is exceptional.  

He truly wishes that it weren’t.


End file.
